


Dearest One

by Nifflers_and_Crookshanks



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3020 T.A, Dol Amroth, Eomer King, Eomer x Lothiriel, Eothiriel - Freeform, F/M, Gondor, LOTR, One Shot, Rohan, Rohirrim, Third Age, horselord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nifflers_and_Crookshanks/pseuds/Nifflers_and_Crookshanks
Summary: Éomer asks for Lothíriel's hand in marriage. Lothíriel is not sure what to say.





	Dearest One

**May 3020 T.A**

To Lothíriel, the sound of the sea waves was as familiar as a mother’s lullaby, a comforting song that soothed her nerves and sung her to sleep. It helped her on nights, such as this, when she needed to calm herself from the night’s excitements. Laughter and good conversation was delightful over fine food and glasses of wine, but did nothing to ease you to sleep, and the hour Lothíriel retired to her bed was late. Sitting by the her window, brushing out her hair and listening to the music of waves rolling onto the shore, Lothíriel would allow her thoughts to settle and calm. When the cold night air and starlight was on her face, and the song of the ocean was in her ears she felt truly at peace. And so, there she was, until a door opened and closed with a slam somewhere in her apartments.

“Who-”

“Suil, thelig,” A familiar voice greeted her from across the room, pacifying Lothíriel, and she turned just as her sister-in-law pulled back the thin drapes and entered her bedroom, carrying a silver tray.

“Suil,” The princess mumbled in response, her hands abandoning her hair and the attempt at a plait. She was noticeably confused by her sister-in-law’s sudden appearance.

“I did not get a chance to see you after the evening meal with all the chaos Alphros caused and thought perhaps you might want something to warm you,” Aerneth said as she set down the tray on a table beside Lothíriel’s mirror, hairpins and recently removed jewellery. “It’s well into spring but the nights still have a cold air about them,” She pulled aside a chair for Lothíriel, but the princess just sat by the window sill and stared at her. “Tolo! Sit,” It was becoming more apparent to Lothíriel that she was about to receive either a lecture or a story, and at this hour she felt prepared for neither. But, she obeyed.

Aerneth began braiding Lothíriel’s hair, stroking it as the princess lifted her cup, surrounding herself in the smell of hot spices and honey. Still, she was watching her sister-in-law in the mirror, suspicious.

“Alphros just would not go to bed, thelig,” Aerneth told her in a conversational manner, clearly no longer amused by her toddler son’s restlessness now the sun was down, “I had been promised a poetry recital by your lord cousin Faramir following the evening prayer, though I do not believe he was the one intended to perform,” Often following dinner Imrahil’s kin and household guests would retire to the garden pavilion’s in the spring, to enjoy each other’s company and everything the prince’s food stores had to offer, while the more devout would excuse themselves for prayers as the last few shining stars emerged in the sky. With the company of the White Lady of Rohan and her brother King Éomer the evening conversation had become more and more entertaining, something that Lothíriel was glad she could take part in as her Aunt Irviniel excused her absence at prayer so that she could keep the Lady Éowyn company. Poetry had been of a particular interest that night.

“No,” Lothíriel answered slowly, “he was able to tease Elphir into it, actually,”

“A warrior poet is that lord husband mine,” Aerneth smiled, “And who sang I wonder? Did the lord Éomer King try his hand?” Lothíriel burst out laughing at that, “What? Does that amuse you so?”

“Yes it does, but it is best not to mock our guests, lest it be thought to be in earnest,” She replied carefully.

“I think you care greatly for our guests, most specifically King Éomer,” At that, Lothíriel rolled her eyes.

“Thêl, you’ve come here to say something, I ask you to say it before you forget,”

“I was almost there,” Aerneth said curtly and begrudging continued, but with a colder more distant tone. “Your lord father has requested your presence in the administrative chambers on the morrow, you’ll break your fast and then attend to him immediately,”

“For what, did he say? And with who? He would not call me to audience simply to speak with me alone,” Her father often spoke with her on matters of importance, but always he had found her on her own or mentioned it in conversation when they spoke at meals or in times of leisure, never had he summoned her as an audience, “Aerneth thêl, you know something,” She resolved, catching sight of her sister-in-law’s knowing smile.

“I am not in a position to disclose pertinent information,” The lady answered slyly, “however, I would not be wholly surprised if a distinguished lord made an appearance to solicit the prince for your hand in marriage,”

“Who?” Lothíriel demanded. 

* * *

There was a small alcove in one of the lower gardens of Imrahil’s house that overlooked the sea. Steep stone steps down a cliff face meant that the grounds were rarely walked and slightly overgrown, and it was one of Lothíriel’s many haunts as a result. Being in that alcove calmed her. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the way the white stone held the sun, or the tricks the coloured window panes played with the light, or simply the proximity to the sea. Regardless, it was her retreat, her refuge, where she would flee to think when her back was up against a wall. It was the only place she could go, now.

Aerneth had warned her of the possibility that there would be a proposal, and by who, but Lothíriel had been so achingly tired she had refused to think about it, and in the morning she had been allowed no time to. As soon as she was dressed she was rushed to her father’s chambers, where she found not only her brother Elphir beside Lord Imrahil, but also her cousin Faramir. Upon her arrival she was swiftly informed that her presence had been requested by their guest, the King of Rohan, and the Lord Elfhelm, who would be arriving momentarily. Lothíriel had only begun to consider an appropriate response when they arrived, but when he entered the room her thoughts were scattered.

Over the past weeks of the Rohirrim’s stay in Dol Amroth Lothíriel had grown better acquainted with her cousin’s betrothed, and had come to love Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan as she was known, as dearly as a sister. Similarly, she had also found friendship in Éowyn’s brother, King Éomer, though propriety dictated that it was a more distant relationship. Still, despite her familiarity with him, she had yet to become accustomed to the way his presence seemed to fill a room. She expected she never would, and that scared her a little. Lothíriel was proud and stern, she should not be intimidated by someone’s mere presence, and if she was not intimidated by Éomer she was certainly incredibly aware of him and every movement he made. He had such an affect on her, a disastrous affect in this particular circumstance.

During her first encounter with the King of the Rohirrim Lothíriel had been informed that the men of the mark did not lie, and it seemed they did not mince their words either as both Éomer King and Lord Elfhelm were direct and straight to the point as soon as the discussion began. The king of Rohan intended to wed the princess of Dol Amroth, and as he would be departing for Minas Tirith the following day they would require a definite answer that very night.

Lothíriel had left the room as soon as the meeting concluded, even before the ink on Faramir’s notes had dried, her mind reeling. She had sought solace in her little alcove, leaning her head against the wall with her eyes closed as she worked to comprehend her thoughts. So immersed in this task was she that her ears did not register the sound of approaching footsteps.

“My Lady, I had looked for you and here you are,” Éomer announced, and Lothíriel’s eyes flashed open.

“If a man true of heart searches long enough, even the One can be found,” She answered quickly, though she realised the saying sounded jumbled and forced in the common tongue. There was a long pause before she added, “it sounds better in Edhellen,”

“Sindarin shall always evade me I fear,” He replied, and then the roaring in her ears was quieted by the soft lap of water against stone from below. “May I ask you something, Lady Lothíriel?”

“You already have, my lord, but a king need request permission for few things, so please, speak,”

“You seemed surprised when I spoke of my feelings for you,” Éomer said after a while, “why?” Lothíriel laughed, despite herself.

“Because I was surprised,” She smiled.

“I made it known to you a number of days ago that you are dear to me, how might you be shocked when I repeated the sentiments?” It was true, in a way. The pair had taken a turn about the gardens together as dutiful chaperones for Éowyn and Faramir, who had walked several paces ahead lost in their own world, when the subject of their friendship had arisen.

“My lord, you said I was dear to you, that is quite different from a profession of love and an intent to marry,” Lothíriel recalled the conversation well. “In these months that I have known you, my lady, you have come to be as dear to me as any of your brothers, nay dearer,” She quoted, her tone of voice becoming lofty and airy in imitation of the way he spoke.

“I do not sound like that,” Éomer responded dismissively.  
“But those were your words, yes? No mention of love or affection greater than respectful friendship, and yet this morning I was swiftly informed that not only did you hold me in high esteem and admiration but that these sentiments were so strong that you would equate them to adoration and love. Forgive me, lord, if I was unaware of these feelings of yours,”

“Are they so unlike your own, my lady?” He asked, tilting his head as though in thought. “It seems I have spent months attempting to unravel the mystery that you are to not avail,”

“That’s not what I said,” Lothíriel said, perhaps too sharply.

“Then why must you put off your decision until the last hour?”

“You would ask it of me to not only decide whether or not I wish to spend the rest of my life with you, but to do it hastily in a timely fashion so as not to impede your other plans? Your name is patience, lord!” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Lothíriel realised that they were best not uttered at all. Regardless of the circumstances, the man before her was a king of a proud people and an honoured guest in her father’s house, it was ill behaviour to taunt him, and unbecoming of a woman of her station.

He held her gaze for a long time, until she felt she would crumble before him. His eyes were never cold, but now they were piercing and dark, a fire in his spirit challenging her own..

“Forgive me, Éomer King, I forget myself,” She eventually relented. Still, she was trapped in his dark gaze.

“My lady, I ask to honour you in every way you allow, to be given leave to adore you and devote myself to you. I wish to build a life with you by my side, and I feel that it would be incomplete without you, do not treat me as though it is a punishment to be the object of my love,”

“Then oblige me in leaving me to decide whether or not I am content to be an ‘object of love’, as you so fittingly put it, and if I reciprocate these sentiments,” Lothíriel said. She was entirely uncomfortable with having anyone invade her private sanctum that was the alcove they stood in,

“You said that I was dear to you also, my lady, I do not forget such things,”

“My understanding of the word may be incorrect, lord, Westron is not my mother tongue and the words I have to express friendship and love in the language are limited, but I have not known ‘dear’ to have romantic connotations,”

“I know it to have an implication of fondness,” He countered, “and at the time I thought it was an appropriately restrained way to express my thoughts,”

The pair stood, a foot apart, staring at each other for sometime, neither sure what next to say, how to continue on the discussion in a civilised manner. They had talked for hours on end nearly everyday for a month and more, but this was the first time they had ever exchanged words that were less than pleasant. Neither knew how to proceed in the circumstances, with the added uncertainty of what their relationship was.

“If there has been such a grievous miscommunication between us due to such a small word, lord king,” Lothíriel finally spoke, “then I wonder at what problems shall arise when we marry.”

“When we marry?” Éomer grinned. “My lady, are you accepting my proposal?”

“Law!” The princess cried, interrupting the tranquility of the garden in which she hid and forgetting he knew not a word of Sindarin. “I mean, that is not what I meant to say, I simply meant that I…” His chuckling caused her to abandon her train of thought, “It is not very kingly, nor honourable, to laugh at a lady, my lord,” Lothíriel tried to defend herself, but she could not help but join him in his amusement, laughing with him.

“I look forward to you accepting tonight, then, if you insist on using all the time you were given,” Éomer teased.

“And what makes you so certain of my response?” She laughed.

“I have gambled my reputation in front of your father, brother and cousin, my sister’s future husband, three men I greatly respect, on my trust that you love me as I do you,” He said, returning to a sense of gravity. “I do not think you will disappoint, my lady,”

“How confident are you, lord?” Lothíriel challenged.

“I think,” He began, leaning in closer, as though he was about to divulge a coveted secret, “that you would dearly like to have me as your lord husband,” He said it so softly the peaceful lap of the waves threatened to drown his words. “Your eyes tell all, lady Lothíriel,” She shivered when he said her name, dark eyes capturing her soul. A demure maiden, a modest noblewoman, would avert her gaze and blush. Lothíriel did neither of those things, she was neither of these people.

“You said before, my lord, that you wished to honour me in every way I would allow,” She said, holding his gaze. “AlWhat, precisely, would honouring me entail? What do you believe I would not allow?” The princess spoke intentionally slowly, her tone suggestive at the least.

“My lady, how forward do you wish me to be?” Éomer laughed, and Lothíriel was pleased to see that she had made him uneasy.

“As forward as you believe I would allow, of course,” She smiled. Without warning, he closed the space between them and laid a kiss on her cheek. Lothíriel was suddenly very aware of her bare neck, and the scratch of his beard on her soft skin. It was a sensation she did not entirely object to. And when the kiss was finished, he linger there, lips pressed to her cheek bone.

“I am a passionate man, Lothíriel, do not ask more of me,” He pleaded, her name sounding like a prayer on his lips.

“I can hardly consent to marrying a man I have never kissed,” She answered, a teasing grin on her lips. He remained silent for a moment, and just as Lothíriel began to wonder if she had said the wrong thing she found herself pressed up against the stone wall, a pair of fervent lips on her own. The princess briefly wondered if she should object to the way his hands held her face, how bruising his mouth was or how close his body was to hers, but all her thoughts left her when he deepened the kiss and she noticed how her hands were drawing him to her and the moan that was beginning in her throat.

“If I refuse, will you be utterly humiliated?” She asked when they were finally parted, both breathing heavily.

“If you reject me because of my performance?” He chuckled. “Undoubtedly,”

“Well,” Lothíriel mused, “We can’t have that now, can we, my lord?” Somehow, her lips found his neck, despite her considerable height it was the highest she could reach, and she smiled as she dropped kisses on his throat.

“Éomer,” He urged, grinning down at her. “Call me Éomer,”

“I intend to,” She assured him, pushing him back hastily as she heard the rush of footsteps approaching. She murmured his name just as her two companions rounded the corner running, appearing near hysterical. Her absence had obviously been noticed, then.

“Híril nín, i ernil odhron lín ar heril gwanur lín cerim ial ech!” Luiniel announced, descending upon Lothíriel before she registered Éomer’s presence. When she did, she blushed profusely before curtseying low. Nésswen followed on Luiniel’s heels, but quickly noticed the king’s presence.

“My father and aunt request my presence, my lord, no doubt they intend to coerce me into accepting your suit.” Lothíriel explained to Éomer as her companions recovered from their shock and their run. “Should I inform them of my intentions?”

“The lady should do as she sees fit,” He answered with a smirk, bowing slightly before departing.

“Híril nín, man agóredh?” Luiniel finally asked, and the princess almost burst out laughing at how shocked her face appeared.

“We did nothing that should worry either of you so, gwatheli,” Lothíriel assured the pair of them, speaking her own language once again. “Hí, tolo! I need to tell my father I shall be wedding the king of Rohan,”

**Author's Note:**

> Suil - Greetings  
> Thelig - Sister (diminutive)  
> Tolo! - Come!  
> Thêl - Sister (formal)  
> Edhellen - Elvish  
> Law! - No! (literally; it isn’t so).  
> Híril nín, i ernil odhron lín ar heril gwanur lín cerim ial ech! - My lady, the prince your father and your lady aunt summon you!  
> Man agóredh - What did you (plural) do?  
> Hí, tolo! - Now, come!


End file.
